Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(74)

Geoffrey’s throat worked reflexively, and he dropped his gaze to the wet bouquet in his hands. How could he blame Abigail? He deserved her scorn and loathing. And yet…he needed to see her. He glanced up, past Westfield’s shoulder to the staircase that led to Abigail’s chambers. Geoffrey trusted he could just slip past the other man. It remained questionable how far he could advance before…

“Don’t even think of it, Redbrooke,” Westfield snapped.

“Robert, that is enough.”

Geoffrey froze at the sudden, unexpected appearance of the duke. The man peered down at him from his long, noble nose.

Westfield’s glare darkened, but he nodded curtly and took his leave.

Geoffrey bowed, and sent drops of rain flying onto the duke’s immaculate black boots.

“You are rather determined, Redbrooke,” the duke said in a flat, unreadable tone.

“Your Grace.”

“Abigail requires her rest but has asked to see you.” He jerked his chin, and began walking, clearly expecting Geoffrey to follow.

Geoffrey hastened his stride, and fell into step beside the duke. She asked to see him. Hope flared in his chest.

“You have fifteen minutes, and after that you are to leave, Redbrooke. My niece will determine whether she again sees you. If she asks to never see you again, then you are to leave my doorstep and not return. Is that clear?”

Fifteen minutes. He had but fifteen minutes to plead forgiveness for being a pompous, self-important ass. He had fifteen minutes to declare his love, and convince Abigail to allow him to spend the remainder of his days trying to be worthy of her. It wasn’t enough time.

“It is clear, Your Grace,” he murmured.

They stopped beside a closed door. The duke pressed the handle, and motioned for Geoffrey to enter. “Fifteen minutes,” he repeated quietly.

Fifteen minutes.

It would have to be enough.

Geoffrey stepped inside. His gaze swept the impressive parlor until he found her. He placed the awkward box shouldered under his arm down upon a nearby rose-inlaid table and set the bouquet of flowers atop it.

His stomach tightened like he’d been kicked in the gut by Decorum’s back hooves. The air left him on a whoosh as he saw her. “Oh, God.” Vibrant greenish blue bruises stood bright and angry upon her lovely face. His eyes slid closed. He forced them open. He’d been coward enough.

Abigail’s lips tipped up in a sad little rendition of a smile. “That bad?”

He swallowed painfully and crossed over to her. He dropped to a knee beside the floral upholstered sofa. “That bad,” he said, gruffly.

Something sparked in her eyes; a glimmer that bore traces of the merriment she’d always carried. “You always were rather candid, weren’t you?” A hint of wistfulness threaded those words together.

Geoffrey reached for her hand, and froze at the sight of her left arm kept tight to her chest. When he’d been a boy, there had been a small wren that had shattered its wing. The bird had hopped about his mother’s garden with that broken wing. With her fragility, Abigail put him in mind of that injured creature.

Geoffrey’s gut clenched. “This is my fault.”

She touched her fingers to his head. “It is not.”

He didn’t deserve her absolution. “It is. I should have never allowed you to leave. I should have seen you home myself.” He should have been there to protect her, and support her, and sneer in the face of a cruel Society. Instead, like the worst kind of bastard, he’d put her into that hackney and sent her off alone.

“Geoffrey,” she touched her hand to his cheek. “I am a woman. The mistakes I’ve made, they are my own.”

She referred to Alexander Powers…and now him. God, with every fiber of his filthy being, he loathed the category he now kept with that faceless coward.

“Is that why you have come?” she asked. “Out of a sense of guilt? That isn’t necessary. I should have never gone to you that evening. It wasn’t proper.” A macabre rendition of a smile turned her full-red lips.

He glanced away unable to look at the transformation his betrayal had wrought on his tender-hearted, hopeful Abigail.

He remembered back to their first meeting.

Miss, we’ve not been properly introduced; therefore, all manner of discourse between us is improper.

Geoffrey no longer recognized the man he’d been.

“Oh, Abby,” he whispered. He covered her uninjured hand with his. “I’ve been such a bloody ass.” Sinclair had been correct. “I couldn’t see past my own jealousy.” In the days since he’d learned of her accident, Geoffrey had managed to reconcile that Alexander Powers represented a part of her past. Just as Emma Marsh would forever be part of his dark, shameful youth. Both of those relationships had shaped each of them into the people they had become. “You were right, Abigail.”

She pulled her hand back, and tucked it in her lap. “Oh?”

He stared, unblinking down at her long fingers. He no longer had a right to touch her. He’d turned her out, and now must forsake the privilege she’d granted him with her love.

“We were not dissimilar. We were both hurt by love.” Only, you never hurt me, Abby. I betrayed you. “But I will never hurt you again. If you’ll allow me, I will spend the rest of my days endeavoring to deserve you. I love you, Abby.”